Page 8 of The Forbidden Fae King

My mouth dries with nervous anticipation as we pass under the outer wall. Only the teeth of the rolled-up iron gate are visible and the four guards salute us as we pass.

I pick at the dirt beneath my nails as doubts niggle at me.

The broad road winds up the incline, between the glasshouses of orchards, already blooming unnaturally this early in the season. An abundance of white apple blossoms are visible through the glass, covering the otherwise skeletal branches in clouds of petals.

My heart rate ramps up as we cross the bridge that spans over a deep ravine between the hilltop of the orchards and Castle Appleshield itself. The foundations of the fortress are built into a bluff of pure stone.

Most of the castles in the south of Strathia are sprawling amalgamations of freestanding towers and buildings, with beautiful courtyard gardens and huge balconies, but not ours. The entire north was built to defend, so the rest of Strathia could indulge in safety.

The king’s entourage fills the castle’s main courtyard just beyond the bridge and gatehouse. The ring of our horses’ hooves on the flagstones echoes in the space and turns all heads our way. I scan the crowd of dozens, swallowing as my mouth suddenly turns dry.

Most in the courtyard are royal guards in deep purple uniforms, holding spears and with swords or bows at their backs. The king’s heavyset frame stands out from the rest, in a vibrant purple doublet seeded with pearls and ridiculous pants cut at the knee, ballooning out to the hips in ruffles of white velvet.

There is not a speck of dust from the road on him. I doubt he has ridden a horse since his youth.

A frown occupies King Willard’s fleshy face as his gaze narrows on me and Caitlin. It flicks to the five Cú Sídhe trophies accompanying our hunting party, then back.

My father stands next to the king, witnessing the same sight but with a smile on his face that lights up his green eyes. With one look at him, all the tension melts from me.

A slight breeze blows his chin-length fiery red hair, which is permanently disheveled because he can’t help running a hand through its length to pull it away from his face.

We dismount, our entire guard kneeling before our king. Caitlin leads Diarmuid and I right before him, and while we ladies courtesy deeply, Diarmuid bows.

“King Willard, it is an honor to host you at our keep,” Caitlin says as she rises.

He examines us both with exaggerated motions, head to toe, toward our kill and bows, then turns to my father. “Edmund, it is quite unladylike for your daughters to partake in a hunt like wildlings. Do you struggle to keep a rein on the willful creatures?”

My mouth hangs open until Caitlin kicks me. I don’t understand how she tolerates the dismissal. I have met the king numerous times, and still his personality hits me like the shock of a thunderbolt.

My father laughs, raising a single eyebrow. “No wise man would hold back the women of Appleshield. This fortress would fall to lower fae without them. We do not have ladies here. We have warriors and priestesses.”

“You are far too indulgent, old man.” The king’s lips quirk quickly upwards.

“You have a daughter Willard, fifteen like my youngest. We’ll see how indulgent you become.”

The king slaps my father’s back. “Ah! But I have already married mine off. She is no longer my problem. Women become so willful at that age. Better to let another man deal with it.”

I jolt at the harshness of those words. He speaks as though he sold off a breeding mare. The king turns to me and Caitlin, nodding to uswildlingsin a manner that is not unfriendly. He completely misses the expression that flashes across my father’s face, anger that bleeds into sadness.

King Willard smiles when he notices brother. “Ah Diarmuid, my good boy. Why would a strapping young man like you have your sisters out leading a hunt of those horrible creatures?” He puts an arm around Diarmuid’s shoulders and leads him away. “Yes, I know the druids do not kill.” I cannot hear Diarmuid’s reply, only the king’s bellowing again. “You are always welcome to finish your training in my court, with my druid adviser.”

As they drift away, I contemplate who has it worse whenever the king visits, myself and Caitlin, or Diarmuid who always gets roped into spending hours entertaining him.

A roar of voices rises within the courtyard, as the guards and nobles talk among themselves. They had fallen silent for the king's humiliation of us. My cheeks and neck heat with embarrassment.

“I can never quite work out if the king is joking or if he insults us,” Caitlin mutters with a pleasant, courtly smile forced onto her face.

“Both, I think.” I scan the crowd.

“Definitely both.” Our father chimes in behind us, placing a hand on each of our shoulders. “Because he sees our strength in unity. We will give him no other reason to feel threatened while here, right? Not even a threat to his masculinity. Wars have been fought over less.”

Men. Typical men.

Affronted because we ride and hunt and thrive, because we have the prowess they value. As women, we are better hunters than most men, andthatthreatens their masculinity. It is so much easier to drag another person down, than to put in the effort to improve one’s self.

“I know what you two are thinking,” my father half-whispers to us, scratching his neatly trimmed, red beard. “And I agree with you. Any other chauvinistic bastard, and I would love for you to put him and his insecurities in his place, but not the king. We all swallow our pride for royalty.”

Our father pats our shoulders, then disappears into the crowd as soon as he catches the attention of the king’s druid adviser.

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